


Island in the Sun

by aactionjohnny



Category: The Venture Bros
Genre: Fluff, Hurt/Comfort, M/M, Mutual Pining, Vacation
Language: English
Status: In-Progress
Published: 2018-12-11
Updated: 2018-12-12
Packaged: 2019-09-16 14:32:59
Rating: Mature
Warnings: No Archive Warnings Apply
Chapters: 2
Words: 1,853
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/16955799
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/aactionjohnny/pseuds/aactionjohnny
Summary: Filling in the blanks of what we didn't get to see in Spanakopita! Pete and Billy excel at definitely being in a relationship even though they aren't. Antics and sweetness ensue.





	1. Spinach Pie, Sweetie Pie

**Author's Note:**

> I've been knee-deep in commissions and an analytic essay I've been writing f o r f u n so I needed some OTP nonsense to refresh my soul.

Thank god the sun’s finally gone down. They’re inside, sighing in their little rock-walled room, its full-size bed ornate with handmade quilts. The place has charm, Pete’s willing to admit. Even if he still plans on complaining the entire duration of the trip. He removes his hat and unzips his long, white cloak. Maybe it was a little dramatic of him to dress like that, but if he’s anything, he’s petty. But it’s a relief to be out of those clothes and in a simpler outfit.  _ Vacation _ Pete is willing to wear blue jeans. At least he’s looking sharper than Billy, in his polo and plaid shorts. 

He tosses his suitcase onto the couch and flops down onto the mattress, on his back and spread out wide as he can. He feels Billy climb up next to him, and he smiles at the small, struggling grunt he makes. His bed at home is closer to the ground…

Billy eases the same, spreading his arms and staring at the ceiling. They both fit, short, skinny. Their fingers touch just barely, but they’ve stopped pulling away. They’ve stopped keeping a measured distance between their limbs, but they are as yet too new and green at tenderness to assign it a name, a meaning.

They’ve just grown close, closer. Falling asleep in one another’s beds, leaning against one another during movies they’ve watched countless times. Staring dreamily after a cocktail, but never saying it aloud. And now, how they roll to face one another, using their hands as pillows.

“Sorry you don’t want to be here…” Billy mumbles, sheepish, almost like he means it.

“Eh,” Pete shrugs, eyeing the pattern on the blanket. “ _ I’m _ sorry. Think I’ve just become too much of a homebody.”

“Like I said--”

“Back to nature?” Pete asks, grinning through his chiding, and then biting his lip to see the look of fond annoyance on Billy’s face. He’s come to adore how he can know at a glance how he’s feeling, what he’s thinking. They spend hours together, not talking. Feet piled up on the couch for warmth, nodding in agreement, ‘want another drink?’ 

“Ha, yeah. Though this place isn’t exactly  _ lush _ ,” Billy says.

It sets in, the idea of having no internet, no television, no anything. Nothing but Billy and Rusty. He sighs again, reaching out to toss an arm over Billy’s waist. _ That’s  _ new, too...but there’s a familiarity, a comfort to the feeling of Billy wiggling closer to bury himself in his chest.

Worn out from the flight, Pete’s sure he could doze off. Sure he could wake up above a pile of drool he’s left on Billy’s massive forehead. Waking up smiling, glad, like he can’t help it. Waking up and remember how, before they drifted off, their lips had hovered close, both too scared to take that next step. It would become something else, were they to kiss. They couldn’t ignore it like they have been…

“...Thanks for coming with me,” Billy says, muffled by the fabric of Pete’s shirt. 

“Where you go, I go…” he says, nonchalant as if it isn’t the kind of thing that makes him feel like his heart’s being taken out of his skinny chest. “Ya know...typically…” Good save, he tells himself.

“Yeah...of course.” 

And it is always a surprise to their friends, when they’re not together. Pete can hardly imagine going this far across the globe without Billy at his side.

They lay in silence, curled into one another, enjoying the muted sound of outdoor chatter and mating crickets, until they’re interrupted by the creaking of the door.

“Oh for fuck’s--” Rusty says, and they both sit upright, quick to fix their hair, wipe the sleep from their eyes. “It’s not your  _ honeymoon,  _ boys. Come downstairs and have a drink.”

 

__

 

_ Honeymoon _ . That asshole. Like they don’t already know how it looks. Like Billy doesn’t already almost call Pete by such sweet pet names, on accident.  _ You’ve got to lock the windows when it’s this cold out, honey, you always get sick otherwise _ … Like the thought of going on this vacation without him didn’t feel like some kind of betrayal.

But his worries are simple to drown, and he orders wine. Surely it’s been made with the feet of these welcoming people. It’s not great, but what does he know? Pete always buys the cheap shit, anyway.

It ought to be a romantic scene. It ought to feel like they’ve traversed the earth to go on a date in some new, exciting place. But it’s hard to feel like mooning over it all when Rusty’s ten feet away, dancing on the bar. Billy snorts at the sight and downs his first glass, orders his second.

“Pump the breaks there, Pally,” Pete warns, placing one pale hand atop his newly filled glass. He does tend to go a little too hard too early…

“What are you, my mother?” he spits. It’s just easier to be mean. It’s easier to pretend he’s not endeared by the idea that Pete doesn’t want him to end the night puking his brains out. “...I know. I’ll be fine.” 

His mother. Far from it. She’s been calling lately, asking after his career, his life. His relationship, she calls it.  _ Oh it’s just so sweet that you’ve found someone to love, William _ . And he can’t even correct her. Because she’s not even wrong.

He loves him. He hates that. He hates even more that he can’t even say it. He hates that they have to share a bed, here on this remote island where people must come to be in love. He hates that he’ll end up the big spoon in the middle of the night and not be able to sleep because he’s fighting off the urge to whisper something sweet. Fuck. He takes a generous sip of wine.

He’s comforted to feel Pete’s hand on his shoulder. Maybe he won’t have to be the one to take that leap. Maybe he’ll save him the trouble--

You’ve got to be kidding.

Their nemesis, dressed so proudly in that ridiculous yellow. Some vacation. 


	2. Money to Burn

Quietly they rifle through their suitcases to find their sweatsuits. Stealthy and soft. They argued over whether or not they were worth packing, but Billy insisted. You never know. They change their clothes with their backs facing one another, as if they haven’t already, over the years, seen every inch of one another’s skin. And Pete’s, so pale and even…Billy laments his own complexion, how he had freckles on his back and knees. Even if they’re both odd against the world, together, Pete is still the one that got lucky. He gets to be tall and slender and handsome. That’s what he told his mother. Oh, yeah, he’s gorgeous. I’m lucky.  
“I think this shrunk in the wash,” Pete complains, tugging on the hem of his sweatshirt.  
“That’s why you shouldn’t use the highest setting on the drier, I keep telling you.” Billy reaches out, grabbing for the cotton fabric and pulling at it. “It’s fine.” Pete, ever opposed to these little intimacies, Billy’s sure, rolls his eyes and bites his lower lip.  
But regardless, they wind up smiling. They’re feeling a little proud, so ready to thwart their enemy in the dead of night. Billy is just thankful Pete hasn’t brought up the awkward way in which they woke, with him clinging to his back for dear life.  
Not that it was the first time they started the morning skin to skin.  
“We gotta go,” Pete says, pulling on his black knit cap. “We don’t got a lotta time before sunrise.”  
“Relax, it’s like 11 PM.” He tugs on Pete’s sleeve though, urging him out of the room.

—

Quietly they sneak through the hotel, almost disappointed that Rusty isn’t up partying to provide a distraction. But they’ve gotten good at moving quick and silent, at signaling one another and keeping their voices to a low whisper. In sync, they make it to the front door, and Pete can’t help the way he smiles.  
“Nice job, fella,” he whispers, holding up his hand for a soft high-five.  
Quietly they press their palms together. It’s a bit like holding hands...Pete gulps and pulls his hand back, stuffing it in his pocket. Always he’s certain that those gentle and tender touches will make Billy shrink from him, no matter the evidence to the contrary.  
He watches as Billy unties the heavy rope that keeps the boat docked, and he folds his arms, biting the insides of his cheeks to keep himself from looking too adoring. He’s so fucking...cute. The way he holds a flashlight between his teeth, the way he focused on the knot and furrows his brow. How utterly cozy he looks in that sweatsuit. God dammit. If he had the balls, he’d kneel down beside him and say something classic, something heroic. No matter what happens, I won’t leave you behind. Some action movie with an annoying romantic subplot kinda shit. But as he parts his lips to speak, Billy frees the boat from the dock and is quick to grab Pete by the hand and pull him to the edge so they can hop in.  
If only he knew there were far worse things to make his heart pound fast awaiting him this night.

When he wakes up his head pounds. There’s a ringing and a fluttering noise he knows, but cannot quite place. All he is sure of is that it’s bad. It is the harbinger of something he ought to fear. It’s warm, his limbs feel like they could pop out of their sockets. And his skin, it feels like someone is scratching at his back with so many sharp claws…  
When he opens his eyes it’s far too bright. The commotion sounds muted, their conversation too panicked. All he can feel is the piercing of the sun on his cheek as he’s dragged back into the shadow by strong, short arms.  
Weak, frightened, he feels as though he cannot move. He’s dead weight on Billy’s back, poor thing, until they reach some solid shade and he feels light fabric wrapped around his head and shoulders. He shivers, like the sunburn is poison. His skin burns in a way he has not felt since he was a child who didn’t know any better…  
“You’re gonna be okay, White,” Billy says, a softness in his voice despite the desperation. “Just a little sunburn…” His small hand hovers over that blighted cheek, but doesn’t touch it. Like he knows how much it will hurt. Like he can feel it, too.  
Nauseated, Pete sinks into Billy where they sit in the shade. It’s like sense memory, this. All the times he was stupid and spent too much time in the sun.  
He’s still a dumbass, isn’t he? Billy saved his fucking life. And it’s not even the first time. He saves him, again and again and again, and Pete gives him nothing in return. Nothing but an aching back.  
He mumbles a thank-you as he drifts back out of consciousness.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> You know when you spend too much time in the sun or you get really sunburned and your body is just “nope” and you throw up and get all shaky? I can’t imagine how much worse that is for Pete.
> 
> They’re so in love! Idiots!!!
> 
> Comments appreciated as always.

**Author's Note:**

> I'm
> 
> Just let me have this


End file.
